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jawsandbones · 7 years

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Sanctuary - Final Part

Previous Chapter

Chapter: Part 3 (Final)

Rating: E

Pairing: Fenris/Female Hawke/Sebastian

AO3 Link: Click Here

Those who oppose them learn what it is to fear. Men in the front, with their shields and their spears, knuckles white at the approaching army. Is the demon among them? They aren’t sure yet. They crash into each other, a cacophony of noise and metal and their eyes flit from warrior to warrior. The whisper passes through the rank. The Champion. The only mage on the battlefield. She clears a path, sending soldiers flying with a wave of her hand. A storm of electricity, an inferno that rages. Their own soldiers laugh with her at their side. And those who oppose them fear, those who oppose them die, those who oppose them run. It takes only a few of these battles before the surrender comes first.

They know what it is to fear during negotiations. The quick-tongued silver elf with the dry wit and cunning mind. They sit opposite the table and sweat, kneading their grubby hands together as he measures them up – finds them unworthy. He cuts deepest into things they thought no one else would know, finds their weaknesses. Deadly silence mixed with few piercing words. Allies are secured swiftly and easily. Starkhaven is learning exactly which side is the winning one. The true King comes.

Hawke laughs as she ties her hair back, mud underneath her boots, different fires roaring. She sits with the soldiers long into the night, sharing stories, drink and food. Sebastian has entrusted her with leading his armies while he and Fenris fight a more political war. She’d never had the patience for politics. The only thing she found difficult was the split. Sebastian and Fenris travelled together. She was alone. Her tent stayed cold, although many a soldier had offered to take her to their bed. Instead she counts down the days to when their paths would cross next.

She goes where she is directed by breathless runners. They take estate after estate, castle after castle. Most allow them passage through, greet the Champion at the gates. They bow and they make platitudes, offering food and shelter. Battle is where Hawke truly shines. Battle is where she can lose herself, staff twirling in one hand, magic in the fist of the other. She pretends she doesn’t hear the whispers about the King’s pet mage bitch. She pretends she doesn’t hear the accusations that a ruined Kirkwall is her fault alone. Being alone is harder than she thought it might be.

The next runner brings an invitation. A gathering of their forces, finally linking together to take the fight to the royal palace and the pretender upon the throne. She holds the parchment in her hands, hides the smile by biting her bottom lip. Her heart hammers quickly in her chest as she dismisses the runner. Alone in her tent she stamps her feet and laughs, pressing the letter to her chest. The letter had been sealed for her eyes alone. Two signatures at the bottom.

Starkhaven is greener than Kirkwall, lush green hills, rolling pastures. The horse shifts below Hawke as she waits, squinting underneath the bright sun, and the breeze in her hair. At last, she sees them. A small party of riders, his crown glinting in sunlight. She rides out to meet them, reigns tight in her hands. “My King,” she says, “your army awaits you.” Sebastian smiles, Fenris trotting up beside her. Too many whispers in Sebastian’s inner circle of needing a wife, an heir, for them to greet each other the way they wish. That comes later.

Hawke leads the way as Sebastian makes his way down the rank and file, each and every soldier bowing their heads to their King. Fenris stays close by, saying nothing, not looking at the soldiers. He keeps his eyes on their backs, the ease in which Hawke sits, the stiff line of Sebastian. In the King’s tent, Hawke and Fenris flank him. Advisors are chattering on the other side, moving ivory pieces around a marked map. “If we can secure the support of the MacCallan’s, we’ll be cutting off every route to the palace,” one is saying.

“The MacCallan’s have cast their support with Goran from the first. They were likely one of the first to prop him up!”

“They’ll see the tides changing. We need only have the entrance into the city, secure the throne and deal with the traitors afterwards!” Sebastian is rubbing the space between his brows, listening to them argue. Hawke has her arms crossed, biting at the skin around her thumb. Fenris is the only one who seems to be listening intently, leaning on the table, frowning at the map.

“We need to secure allies from outside of Starkhaven. An unbreakable alliance. My lord, you need to take a wife as soon as possible.” The advisor narrows his eyes at Hawke. “A wife of proper breeding and noble blood,” he says. At that Fenris looks up, from the advisor straight to Hawke. She wants to laugh. Proper breeding, as though she were a dog. She looks at the ambassador and the smirk that she wears does not reach her eyes. Sebastian raises his hand.

“That’s enough for today. We’ll discuss the assault on the palace tomorrow,” Sebastian dismisses them in a casual tone. The group of them look appalled, as though they wish to protest. Instead they stiffen, they bow, and they obey their king’s command and leave the tent. Hawke’s head immediately falls to Sebastian’s shoulder as she sighs.

“They’re not wrong,” she says to the floor, “it would strengthen your position. You’re the last of the Vael’s. You need –”

“I need you,” Sebastian says. “I need you both.” He shifts, catching her face in his hands, tilting her face to look at him. His smile is warm, his eyes bright and she softens into him. Arms winding around his shoulders, standing on her toes to plant a desperate kiss. Then she pulls away and punches Sebastian in the chest. A light thing, a playful thing.

“It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you and the first thing you do is drag me into a damn war council!” Fenris covers his mouth as he laughs, rounds the table to stand on Hawke’s other side. It takes one finger on her chin to turn her face towards his, capture her lips in a kiss.

“We missed you as well Hawke,” he says. She fakes a pout before she laughs, swallowing Fenris in a hug, squeezing him tightly. Despite her earlier protest, they stand around that table for hours longer. Hawke, completely bent over with her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, frowning as Fenris outlines their current situation.

“We have the advantage in numbers, but they hold the advantage in the city. Goran, or those puppeteering him, have shown they are willing to use civilians to cage us,” Fenris says.

“The trebuchets will knock down the pretty walls of the castle you want to take, along with killing countless innocents. They’re trapped inside the city. They’ll lock their doors and stay inside, die to things they can’t see. They have the advantage of walls, so if we use the ladders it will be bloody. We have the numbers now, but we’ll lose many in this fight,” Hawke says. Sebastian rubs his chin, frowns at the map.

“There is another way.” She says it quietly as she stands up straight. “Send a small force inside the castle. If there is no puppet, the rest will fall apart.” Sebastian and Fenris both share a glance.

“It is the less bloody option. It is also the less honorable,” Fenris says. “We would also need to find a route inside the city and the castle without attracting attention. We also need to consider what damage such a tactic would do to –”

“No,” Sebastian says, “we’re not doing that.”

“Why not? It’s not as though they haven’t done the same. The Flint Mercenaries? How many Crows have they sent to kill you?” Hawke demands.

“Three, so far,” Fenris answers instantly.

“Or at least three that have made themselves known. We’ve also made allies of former enemies. We may hold some loyalty for now, but it’s not a given. We’re in a precarious position where we might need to say fuck honor and end this quickly,” Hawke says.

“We are not them. I will not play their games. If we do this, we do it the right way,” Sebastian says. Hawke shifts on her feet, sighs, before shrugging.

“We’d need ships to blockade the Minanter River, and then we could starve the city. They’d surrender quickly if they had no food,” Fenris says.

“There are plenty of stores within the city. The general populace would starve. The nobles would not,” Sebastian says.

“Which would incite riots that would further destabilize the city,” Hawke says. “The MacCallan’s are the last of these guessed traitors that linger outside the city. They know that even if they side with us, there is no guarantee they survive your ascension. We should take the castle by force, get it over with, which would give us a good hold over the region. Maybe give us a path to smuggle food inside the city for those we want to give to. It would also gain us citizen support.”

“The MacCallan territory is fields and crops. I will not have it burnt to the ground for the sake of a castle.”

“You’re not giving us many options,” Fenris says, “I know you wish to do the right thing, but this is war. Sacrifice is inevitable.” Hawke reaches across the table, takes Sebastian’s hand in hers. The guilt pounds heavily at her chest. If not for Kirkwall, if not for her, Sebastian would never have been in this position. She knows what a good man he is. Forcing him into this… he squeezes her hand and gives her a smile.

“Then we’ll take the MacCallan castle. We’ll move on the royal palace shortly after,” Sebastian says as Hawke moves around the table, settling herself in between the two of them. Ivory figures go rolling as she sweeps the table with an arm. She hops up onto the table, her hands fisting in Sebastian’s tunic, pulling him forward, her legs around his waist.

“Something for the morning,” she says, “show me how much you’ve missed me.” As she kisses Sebastian, Fenris begins to undo the buttons on her shirt. He slips a hand inside, groans as his hand finds her breast. One of Hawke’s hands slips from Sebastian’s chest to Fenris, palming his cock through his breeches, feeling his length already beginning to harden. Sebastian pauses in the kiss, pulls away as the shouting from outside draws nearer.

“Champion! Hawke! My Lady!” Hawke groans as she buttons her shirt back up, hopping off the table just in time as a panting soldier bursts into the tent.

“This had better be fucking important,” she growls, bristling at her second in command.

“Forces have ridden outside of the city. They march on the encampment!” He says, standing straight as he catches his breath. Hawke immediately barks out a short laugh.

“What? That’s bloody stupid of them.” Then she goes silent, frowning, crossing her arms, fingers tapping as she thinks. Why leave the city and the safety of walls? “Something else is going on,” she murmurs.

“Angus. Assemble a few hundred of the men. We’ll be taking the ladders and assaulting the city directly. Fenris. Take the rest of the troops and meet these forces on the field. Keep Sebastian in sight with you at all times,” Hawke is saying as she pulls on pieces of her armor, hopping around as she shoves her foot into a boot. Angus is looking between all three before Hawke stands, hands on her hips. “Now, Angus!” He’s off at a breakneck speed.

“They’ll need light to see. Set the archers upon them first. It won’t be hard – aim for the fire. Keep our troops in the dark,” Hawke is saying as she reaches for her staff.

“You don’t know what waits inside the city,” Sebastian says, shaking his head.

“Which is why you and Fenris will stay on the field. A battle is simple. Do not come inside the city until I find you, understand?”

“I don’t like this,” Fenris says, stepping into agreement with Sebastian.

“This solves our problems. Meet the last of the resistance, beat them down until they surrender. I’ll find Goran – I won’t kill him – and you can decide what to do with him later. Just… let me clear the city. Be safe,” Hawke gives them both swift kisses on the cheek before she’s gone, racing after Angus.

Her hair’s been getting long. There hasn’t been time to cut it. It streams out behind her as she runs, soldiers falling into formation around her. The camp begins to split into two halves as orders are given out. As she runs, she can see the lights cresting the hill. Fenris would be a terror on the field. They’d learn what he can do when negotiations fail. She almost laughs.

Angus beside her, they race towards the city. They carry ladders on their backs, hooks affixed to every section. The defense of the walls is meagre. Breath becomes visible in the air as Hawke focuses on the few archers firing down upon them. Shields are raised, arrows bouncing off metal as they find their mark. The archers would be shivering now, their aim unsteady, the stone icy. This far away, she could do no more.

One by one the ladders go up, finding purchase upon the walls. Soldiers begin to climb immediately. Archers and Hawke keep an eye on the battlements, take down those who try to dislodge the ladders. It takes only a few soldiers to cement their hold, allow the rest to climb upwards. “Sweep the battlements,” Hawke says, “find the rest.” A wave of unease washes over her. There should be more, there should be more. Why leave the city defenseless?

Their troops surround the city and the MacCallan estate. The mountains would bar any escape they could not cover. Advantage in numbers… they’d need to pull every soldier they had to try and break through Sebastian’s line. Hawke is biting her bottom lip as she runs again, Angus and a few others at her side, down the walls and through the streets. The palace sits by the banks of the Minanter, a marvel of marble.

The streets are empty, people inside their homes with the doors barred. Whatever is happening, they want no part of it. Soldiers fight soldiers, and Sebastian had long ago proven that he would keep the civilians safe. The braziers of the palace are lit, although their footsteps empty in the hall. “What way to the main hall?” Hawke asks. Angus immediately points and off they go. They find the door barred from the outside.

Hawke is frowning as she reaches out, clenches her hand into a fist. In her mind’s eye, she is reaching for the wood planks nailed across the door. She grabs a tight hold, begins to pull. One by one, the planks fly off, leaving the door exposed, allowing them to push it open. They’re greeted by sobbing servants, shouting and yelling, thanking the soldiers briefly as they run out of the hall. At the end of the hall sits Goran, tied to his throne. The crown sits upon his head.

“Champion,” he greets her as she makes her way down the hall. “So nice to finally meet you.”

“Where are your masters?” Hawke asks.

“Left me to die. They fight with the rest of the army, I imagine, to get as far away from the city as possible,” Goran tells her.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone knows the Champion of Kirkwall fights at Sebastian’s side. Leads his forces. What a scandal it will be when the same explosion that took the Kirkwall chantry takes the Starkhaven palace. I wonder how many would support a King willing to go to such lengths. Allowing a terrorist such as yourself to run wild,” Goran smiles. Little grease of a man. Hawke snarls as she makes her way up the dais, snatches the crown from his head. “You’re lucky I have no wish to die. There are three bombs inside the palace, although I’m not sure where they are.”

“Leave him there,” Hawke waves Angus away from the throne, and he sheathes the knife back into his belt. “We split into three groups. Find the bombs. When you find one, remove the drakestone, and then help the others find the rest. Understood?” Their eyes have dark circles underneath them. Their nods are hollow, sweat beading on their brows. All understand that if they fail, more than just the false king would die.

Just as Hawke had told him, Fenris keeps Sebastian in sight at all times. He had insisted on fighting with his soldiers, wearing that damnably white armor of his, bow in his hands. He lets fly arrow after arrow, through the air, finding their mark either against flesh or metal. The generals are easy to spot. They wear armor more ornate, feathered and jeweled. The order has gone out to find them, capture them.

Fenris weaves around soldiers, slicing down any who draw too near to Sebastian. The beat of the battle is in their favor, in their numbers and the advantage of territory. Those who fight them, fight hard, with a sense of desperation. It only makes Fenris more wary of what could be going on inside the city. Lyrium ignites, a glowing blur that tears through man after man, sword biting into armor. The surrenders do not take long.

“MacCallan. Cowan. Lennox.” Helmets pulled off one by one, the three generals on the field. The puppet masters. If they had not already been dealt with, Sebastian had no doubt he would have found one of the Harimann’s here today. “Where is Goran?” Just like in Kirkwall, they hear it first. The rumble that’s almost gentle. Stones shaking upon the ground. It’s silent, before it happens. The grass shifts, the air turns. A single red beam that goes up, begins to blink, muted before it is snuffed out. Then the explosion rocks one section of the palace.

Fenris is moving instantly, racing down the field towards the gates of the city. Sebastian stalks forward towards the three. “What have you done?” His voice is cold, as icy as Hawke’s magic.

“Failed, apparently,” Lennox says. His voice is almost bored. “There were supposed to be three. And the explosion was meant to be much more spectacular than that.” Fenris is barking orders at soldiers. Those who are not guarding the prisoners go with him, through the gates, through the streets. Towards the section of palace that is smoking ruin.

One of the back wings, a small section by any means. A single wall that has caved in, a hole torn through the ceiling. In the center lies a perfect circle of rubble. The soldiers work quickly, pulling off stone after stone, revealing the flickering barrier. Hawke at its center, bloodied and tired, relieved as the barrier goes down. Angus and her other soldiers unharmed, keeping her standing. She collapses in Fenris’s arms with a smile.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, “I wasn’t fast enough to stop it completely. Knew you’d find me.” Half of her is singed, burnt. Silver metal that once shined is now blackened and ashy. Her hair is no longer so long. The crown is still in her hands. Fenris holds her tight in his arms, carries her away from the rubble.

She wakes in a bed softer than anything she’s slept in for the past few weeks. Her hands immediately go to her face, to her arms, trying to find the burns and failing. Healed. She sits up, wearing a light shift, struggles to make sense of the situation. Fenris is at her side as soon as he sees she is awake, sitting on the side of the bed, frowning as he takes her face in his hands. “I thought… we’d lost you,” Fenris says, squeezing his eyes closed. Their foreheads press against each other as Hawke clings to him.

“There was a moment… Is everyone safe? Angus? The others?”

“Yes, they’re safe. Sebastian is with the judges. The trial against Goran and the others is happening now,” Fenris says.

“Shouldn’t you be there?”

“We both wanted to stay with you,” Fenris says softly, thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. “They needed the King. You needed me.” Fenris pulls open the blankets as Hawke lies back down, Fenris beside her.

“You frightened me. Do not do anything like that again,” he scolds. She laughs softly, her nose brushing against his. He stretches out over her, closing his eyes as he sighs, feeling her hands underneath his tunic. Elbows on the bed, he touches at the shortened locks of Hawke’s hair. Uneven and choppy, he’d need to fix it for her later. Her face tilts upwards as fingertips find his shoulder blades.

Her hand splays out as she pulls him down closer, flattening him against her. “I thought I wouldn’t make it in time,” she whispers. “It was meant to look like the Chantry explosion. It was meant to look like it was me - that I -” She takes deep shuddering breath. “It started to spark when I found it. I could barely think, the flames were…” She breaks off into silence.

“You are unharmed,” he presses a kiss to her cheek. “You are safe and Starkhaven is ours. You will always be safe.” He plants kisses down her jaw, her neck. She keeps him tight against her even as his lips find hers, a hand threading through his hair as his mouth opens to her, tongue wet and warm. They take their time with it, lingering in long kisses, slow and easy, hands sweeping over the other. Safe, safe, safe. An affirmation that she is unscathed, unburnt, Fenris’s hand moving over her thigh, pushing up her shift.

Her hands quickly move to his lacings, shifting beneath him. They rock slowly together, Hawke’s legs locked around his waist. Her hands are still travelling on his back, feeling the way his muscles move, the shift of his shoulders. She follows his spine, all the way down, her feet pressing against him. His head is on the pillow beside hers, his arms underneath her. He listens to her breathe against him, those deep inhales, and the quick exhales. Safe.

She squeezes her eyes closed, her mouth against his shoulder, hands shaking into fists. “Hawke,” in that low voice of his, heady and carnal, as though her name were a prayer. “Hawke.” He groans as she tightens, her breathing coming quicker, her leg shaking against him. “Hawke.” She can still feel the blinding heat. That flash of brilliant light. The moment when she thought she’d never see them again. The desperation in the barrier as she screamed, flames licking up the side of her.

Fenris’s hand replaces that imaginary heat on her cheek, kissing her forehead as his hips roll against hers. Blue eyes water, but he chases the tears away. “Hawke,” he says quietly, “I have you.” Safe. Holding each other tighter, closer, her hands grabbing a bunch of his shirt, heels of her feet pressing against him, encouraging him deeper inside.

“Fen,” a peaceful murmur, feeling him and only him, filling her up, spilling his seed.

Hawke is plainly amused, her legs crossed, an elbow on the armrest. Her chin against her fist, smiling as she watches the advisors batter at Sebastian. “We’ll need to make repairs to the damaged portion of the palace, as well as take stock of food,” one is saying.

“The trade routes need to be better protected. There have been reports of bandits in the area.”

“If you would take a wife and produced and heir there would be less concern of-” It’s the same thing every day. The same arguments circling about one another, each advisor shouting over the other. She and Fenris share a look from across the table, hiding their grins as they look at Sebastian. He sighs, rubbing his forehead, the crown sitting neatly upon his head. MacCallan, Cowan, Lennox and Goran have all been executed some days past. The people have accepted and rejoiced at the return of the true Vael.

“Enough!” Sebastian’s fist crashes against the table, silencing all the useless noise. “You. Charter a mason to see to the repairs of the palace. You. Take as many servants as you need, ensure the food stores are filled. You. Gather a few men from the army, have them patrol the trade routes.”

“There is still the matter of a wife, my King.” Hawke’s eyebrows raise. Bold man. He sits opposite Sebastian, his look dark, his hands clasped. She makes a face at Fenris, and he turns away to hide his smile. “You cannot marry the Champion.” All playfulness gone, her eyes narrow as she turns to look at this advisor. “She has run from Ferelden. All of Kirkwall has seen her ‘care’. Now the Chantry hunts for her. We cannot harbor such a criminal here, let alone let our King take her for a wife.”

“Who I marry is my decision, not yours,” Sebastian says coolly.

“You cannot marry a Ferelden dog of low birth!”

“Oh, my grandfather surely would have loved to hear you say that,” Hawke says, tapping her fingers against her chin. “He’s probably rolling in his grave right now.”

“She is the Lady Amell and all of Kirkwall knows what she has done, how she has kept the city safe. She was not made Champion lightly. Have you forgotten that I was there with her? Have you forgotten how many victories she brought us? How she captured the palace? Saved lives by diffusing the bombs that were planted, at the risk of her own life?” Sebastian has his arms crossed as he speaks.

“The rumors-”

“Are rumors. There will be no more talk of this,” Sebastian ends the conversation with firm words, dismissing them with a wave. Fenris and Hawke both stay seated, watching the others leave.

“The more you favor us, the more they’ll resent you,” Fenris says. “From now on, we won’t be attending these meetings.” Hawke sighs as she runs a hand through her hair. Fenris had cut it evenly for her, cropped close to her head. She still kept those wild bangs of hers, tucking a particularly long piece behind her ear.

“He’s right Sebastian. You should look at these… marriage suggestions as well,” Hawke says. She and Fenris are wearing identical frowns, not looking at him, knitting their hands together.

“If I can’t marry you, I’ll marry Fenris. I’m sure they’d love that,” Sebastian says as he sulks in his chair. Hawke smiles, leans forward to pat Sebastian’s hand.

“Give it time. We need distance from Kirkwall. You’ve only just become King. People are still accepting that.” Her thumb brushes over his knuckles as she speaks. “With the mages and the Templars at war, Kirkwall being where it started…” her hand falls back to her lap. “Time. The war will end.” She pushes herself up from the chair, knocks her knuckles against the table as she leaves.

Fenris turns to Sebastian as the door closes behind her. “She’s right. Attention will shift elsewhere. Be patient, and all will come together.”

“You would make a better King than me,” Sebastian says. “I don’t know how to rule. How to manage all of these hens clucking at me.”

“You’ll learn. You will be an excellent King,” Fenris says as he stands, his hand at the back of Sebastian’s chair as he leans over, kisses him.

“I’m better at following orders than giving them,” Sebastian mutters.

“Are you?” Fenris smirks. “Get on your knees.” Sebastian drops instantly, the chair pushing out behind him. Fenris looks down at him, runs a hand through muddy red hair, taking the crown from his head. He places it on his own, gold nesting in silver. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes as Sebastian moves his fingers to undo Fenris’s lacings. The hand in Sebastian’s hair tightens at the first tease of his tongue, the wet running the underside of his hardening cock. Fenris casts his gaze downwards once again as Sebastian takes him in completely, lips glistening with spit. His eyes are closed, his cheeks flushed, mouth full of his cock.

“What would your advisors think,” Fenris says as he tucks a curl in its proper place, “to see you like this? On your knees before an elf.” Sebastian’s eyes open, that piercing blue that strikes like lightning down Fenris’s spine. His hands grip the back of Fenris’s thighs, tongue dabbing at the salt that beads, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Fenris groans, his back hunching, a hand tight on Sebastian’s shoulder. He leans himself harder against the table, the wood biting into his ass, to keep himself from thrusting forward, from shoving himself even further down Sebastian’s throat.

Sebastian works at him with a vengeance, payment for Fenris’s words. His tongue swirls around the head of his cock, one hand cupping his balls and rolling them gently in his hand. He’s pulling down Fenris’s pants even further, gripping his ass, pressing a finger against his asshole. “Ven-venhe…dis,” the word is broken and cracked in Fenris’s mouth, and for a moment, Sebastian smirks. It’s in every movement, each squeeze, each touch, each wet line – the command, the order. Come. Fenris has no choice but to obey.

Sebastian rises to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He wears a triumphant smile as he leans in and kisses Fenris, allowing him to taste the salt of himself. “I would do anything you asked of me, Fenris. Advisors be damned,” he says. Fenris surges forward, arms around Sebastian’s neck, burying the other man in kisses. Sebastian laughs as he wraps his arms around Fenris, all hard muscle and pleasing lines, a warmth like no other.

Sebastian helps tug his pants back over his hips, humming as he ties the knot on the laces. Fenris watches him with a smile, gently placing the crown back atop his head. “It looks good on you. Make sure it stays there,” Fenris tells him. “Marry Hawke. They already call her a demon. Imagine her by your side as your Queen. Enemies would fear you, your allies would be more willing to do as you ask.”

“With the lyrium ghost by our side,” Sebastian tells him, a hand against the back of his neck, his lips against Fenris’s temple. “Fenris you will always be our equal. We need you.” Fenris closes his eyes and looks away.

“If Hawke bears a child and it…” he runs a finger down the length of his nose, against the tip of his ears.

“Then I will love it all the more,” Sebastian says.

“You need an undeniable heir. It needs to be undeniably yours.”

“They will be,” Sebastian takes Fenris’s face in his hands. “Fenris, I will love any child of ours. All of them.”

“All? That you will have to negotiate with Hawke. I do not envy that discussion.” Sebastian throws back his head and laughs, taking Fenris by the hand as he moves to leave. Sebastian goes to his room first, Hawke and Fenris slip in past the guards after. They’re always gone before morning. Hawke comes to the room laughing, holding something above her head.

“He published a book,” Hawke is laughing, “The Tale of the Champion.” She leaps into the bed, resting against Sebastian. He eases his arm around her shoulders, his head knocking against hers. Fenris is on the other side of Sebastian, his hands underneath his head, his eyes closed. She’s still laughing as she flips through the pages. “He actually did it. Varric, you dog.” Her hands shake on the last page, over the last few words.

We vanished into the hills, and circumstance eventually forced us all to leave the Champion’s side. Well… all of us except for Fenris and Sebastian.

“Oh. Oh.” She flips back to the beginning of the book, pulling up her knees, beginning to read. It’s all there, from Bethany to Carver, finding Kirkwall. Finding a family in Aveline, in Varric, in Isabela, in Merrill and in Anders. In Fenris. In Sebastian. Varric skims the details of her love life, attributes Fenris and Sebastian staying with her out of something akin to undying loyalty. Little do they know.

She looks over as she presses the book to her chest, biting her bottom lip. Sebastian and Fenris are both lying on their sides, with Sebastian curled around the elf. He holds Fenris to his chest, his face in white hair. They’re both sleeping peacefully, Fenris’s fingers twitching in dreaming on Sebastian’s arm. Her hands splay out over the cover of the book. The truth. Written down. Kirkwall wasn’t her fault. The Chantry wasn’t her fault. She places the book on the nightstand, huddles against Sebastian’s back, throwing her arm over the both of them.

Fenris wakes first, as he always does. Eyelids heavy with sleep, struggling to open. The first rays of sun have begun to stream through the curtains, casting light over the bed. They’re all tangled together, a sea of limbs, groaning as Fenris struggles to free himself. Feet touch ground, and Hawke buries herself even closer to Sebastian, making noises of protest as she curls her arms around him. Fenris picks up the book from the nightstand, smiles at the dog-ears Hawke has made on specific pages.

He throws back the covers to the saddened moans of both Hawke and Sebastian. “You are a cruel man,” Sebastian tells him as Hawke stretches out, legs as far as they can go, arms above her head, face scrunched together.

“Apologies, my King,” Fenris teases, “but it’s time your harem absconded from your bed.” Hawke, in the midst of beginning to rise, falls back in peals of laughter. Sebastian kneels on the bed, wraps his arms around Fenris’s neck. He nibbles at the lobe of Fenris’s ear, his tongue tracing the shell of it, suckling at the tip.

“Stay,” he breathes in Fenris’s ear, smiling against his cheek. His cheeks have gone red, his breathing heavy. Sebastian knows exactly what doing that does to him. He does it again, tongue against his sensitive ear, fingers massaging the tip of the other. Sebastian smirks as he leans down on the bed, his legs wrapping around Fenris’s waist, a hand against his own hardening cock. Fenris licks his lips as he watches Sebastian stroke himself, expert twists, a tight grip, teasing out that first bead of pre-cum.

“Fuck me,” Sebastian says. Fenris needs no more encouragement. Hawke is quick to move to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and tossing the vial of oil to Fenris. Then she leans back amongst the pillows, back against the headstand, knees up and legs spread, touching herself as Fenris begins to touch Sebastian.

He pops off the top of the vial, coats his fingers in slickness. Sebastian is still stroking at himself, thumb and forefinger, running down the line of his cock. He’s leaking freely now, as Fenris presses fingers against his hole, massaging against it. Fenris is hard from watching them both, his eyes drifting over Sebastian to Hawke. She watches eagerly, a finger swirling around her clit, dipping into her cunt. The wet clings to her, just as the oil clings to him. He follows Hawke’s rhythm in Sebastian, a finger that pumps in and out.

They take their time with it, one finger then two. Sebastian is panting at the third, his legs twitching against Fenris. With the last of the oil, Fenris covers his own cock. Hawke lets out a breathy moan as she watches Fenris press himself against Sebastian, his cock sinking inside him all the way to the hilt. Her fingers begin to move faster just as Fenris begins to move.

His feet are firmly planted on the floor, his hands bruising into Sebastian’s hips as he slams into him again and again. Sebastian’s hands wind in the bedsheets, his cock leaking onto his belly as Fenris thrusts inside him. Hawke rises from where she’s sitting, moves over to kneel over Sebastian. His hands cling to her thighs, his tongue moving upwards, dipping into the sweet wetness of her cunt.

She groans, her eyes closing, leaning over Sebastian towards Fenris. He moves forward, captures her lips in a kiss. One of Hawke’s hands finds its way to Fenris’s shoulder, grinding her cunt against Sebastian’s face. “Please, please, please.” Hawke always babbles as she nears the edge.

“Lie on your stomach,” Fenris tells her. She does as he asks, her legs moving together, keeping friction against her. She watches with eyes half-lidded as Fenris pulls away from Sebastian. “Go to her,” Fenris tells him. Sebastian is crawling over Hawke hungrily, pulling up her hips, ramming himself inside to the hilt. Fenris positions himself behind Sebastian, pushing down on his back, pressing Sebastian and Hawke tightly together. Only then does he resume fucking Sebastian.

Hawke’s feet curl around them, find a hook over Sebastian’s legs. Her fists clench in the bedsheets, her moans stifled into the pillow. Fenris runs a hand down Sebastian’s back, a worshipping touch, throwing his head back as his tempo increases, skin slapping against skin without mercy. His hands spasm on Sebastian’s hips, teeth grinding together as he cums.

He rolls to the side of the bed, watches as Sebastian finishes Hawke, her mouth open and eyes closed, silence as she comes. She lets go of her breath, pants heavily as Sebastian rests his head against hers, one final jet of his hips. “Maker’s breath,” Sebastian murmurs as he lies on the bed. Hawke smiles, still trying to catch her runaway pulse, hugging the pillow beneath her. “We should start every day like this.”

Fenris laughs, runs a hand through his hair, before turning to look at him. A hand drifts across Sebastian’s chest. “We should go. This is a scandal you do not want.” Sebastian closes his eyes, chuckles. When he opens them again, he looks directly at Fenris.

“I thought I’d proven to you already that this is exactly what I want.” Fenris leans over, kisses his forehead, before he slips from the bed. After a quick cleaning, Fenris and Hawke make their hasty escape to their own rooms, leaving Sebastian. He sinks into a bath, sighing in the warm water, smiling to himself.

They find each other next in full armor, Fenris having adopted the Starkhaven insignia. His hair had gotten longer, and Fenris had taken to tying it back into a neat ponytail. White locks still drifted, framed his face, and Sebastian resisted the urge to tuck a lock behind his ear. Fenris makes a short bow when he sees him, the warm smile coming afterwards. It’s a brief thing, meant for Sebastian’s eyes only.

“They want you inspecting the battlements today,” Fenris tells Sebastian as they walk. The dreaded ‘they’ being the advisors. “They believe that an active participation in the defense of Starkhaven will bolster the army’s confidence in you. Not that I think this is necessary.”

“Noted,” Sebastian chuckles. Sebastian’s armor has been shined and polished, and he makes a bright figure against all the grey. White and shining, crown upon his head. Fenris walks a few paces behind Sebastian as he talks with the guards they encounter. His hands clasped behind his back, a relaxed smile on his face. Those he talked to were quickly charmed. Sebastian was easy to love.

Sebastian turns his face to the wind, closes his eyes and smiles as he breathes deeply. Starkhaven is berries and lilies, a soft scent much different than Kirkwall. He’s still having trouble believing it himself. He’s home. He’s the King of Starkhaven. He has the two people he loves the most with him. He’s still as he drinks it in, his eyes still closed. He doesn’t see the arrow. Fenris does. Fenris shouts. Fenris moves too late.

One. Two. The sound they make as arrows pierce armor, bury into flesh makes Fenris want to throw up. He slides to his knees, cradles Sebastian’s head in his lap. He’s screaming orders at guards, pointing them in the direction of the attacks. “Get a healer! Find Hawke!” He orders at others. His hand shakes as it moves downwards, pressing over Sebastian’s belly, pushing against the wound.

Blood spills between his fingers, and Sebastian isn’t moving. “Sebastian.” The crown has fallen, it lies discarded upon stone. “Sebastian.” Bloody fingers against his cheek. The tears that wipe the blood away. A shadow descends and suddenly Hawke is on her knees beside Sebastian, hands glowing white as she presses them against his belly. She pulls the first arrow, and then the second, throwing them to the side. “Sebastian,” Fenris is still saying his name, in a trance, waiting for his eyes to open.

More mages at Hawke’s side, healers and guards. A veritable crowd that separates Fenris from Sebastian. He makes an angry murmur as they pull him away. Hawke’s hand wraps around Fenris’s arm, pulls him to his feet. “We caught him,” she says as she drags him away. Fenris looks over his shoulder, at the people carrying Sebastian, taking him to shelter.

“We can’t leave him,” Fenris says as he plants his feet, holds his ground.

“I - I never really learned. My healing is,” she frowns, clenching a bloodstained hand into a fist. “I know how to kill. Both of us do. We’d only be in the way.”

“We can’t leave him,” Fenris says again, shaking his head. Hawke’s shoulders slump, closing the distance between them. Her arms wrap around him, taking a deep shuddering breath. Fenris is slow to return it, planting bloody handprints upon her back.

“He’ll be okay,” she says in a way that tells Fenris she’s trying to convince herself. Only then does Fenris tighten his hold, squeeze her tighter.

“I should have been faster. I knew this was a bad idea, I should have told them, I should have made them listen to me,” Fenris says, his words half buried in her shoulder. “This walk was foolish. Too in the open. Too unguarded.” He pulls himself away from Hawke, the shadow descending over his brow, settling in the hard line of his mouth.

“Where?” He snarls. The anger blossomed, Hawke nods, turns, and guides him to the lower dungeons.

Guards surround a man on his knees, his head bowed and his hands tied behind his backs. They snap to attention as Hawke and Fenris enter. Veterans of the army, they address Hawke first. “He hasn’t spoken. He won’t respond to any of us,” they say. Hawke kneels down before the man, tilts his face upwards towards her with a finger.

“Demon,” he spits at her.

“Who sent you?” He clenches his jaw shut and does not speak. Hawke sighs, stands, moves out of Fenris’s way. He snarls as he lights the lyrium, a hand crushing on the man’s shoulder, the other worming its way inside his chest. The man gasps in panic as he looks at the hand inside his chest, fingers around his heart.

“Who sent you?” Hawke asks.

“The Crows,” the man yells in a panic.

“Who paid for you?”

“A lord named Lennox. If they failed with the palace - I was to kill the King.”

“One final act out of spite,” Hawke spits. “Are there more of you? More Crows paid to kill the King?”

“N-no. There are four paid for you, Champion.” Hawke’s back stiffens, goes straight, and Fenris looks at her, anger giving way to concern. Four. Four Crows. Who sends four Crows? The book. She let Anders go. She let him walk free, without a true punishment. Now everyone knows. If they couldn’t punish the mages, if they couldn’t punish Anders, they would punish Hawke.

“When? When are they supposed to come?”

“I don’t know! I just know that they are coming!” At that, Fenris flicks his wrist, pulls the heart from the man's chest. He lives just long enough to see it still beat in his palm. Then his eyes roll, and he slumps lifelessly to the ground.

“Stay here,” Fenris immediately orders. He points at the other guards, the heart still in his hand. “Do not let her leave.” They take a collective gulp, begin to nod and agree wholeheartedly. He drops the heart to the ground beside the man, leaves the dungeon. Hawke stands there, the frown on her face, her hands shaking.

Fenris takes the stairs by two, running towards Sebastian’s room. Guards flank every corner, every door, crowding outside of the room. “Let me inside,” Fenris growls, his gaze icy and cold. The door opens for him immediately. There are two healers by Sebastian’s bedside. He looks peaceful, his eyes closed, red hair against white pillows. His hands at his sides, tucked neatly underneath blankets.

One of the healer’s looks up when he enters, gasps at Fenris’s blood-soaked appearance. “How is he?” Fenris asks, not daring to approach the bed. The healer swallows her fear in a gulp before she speaks.

“He’ll live, sire. He needs rest.” The relief thunders in Fenris’s heart. He takes the sword from his back, rests it against the wall. Then Fenris joins it, leaning against stone, crossing his arms. The healers exchange a look, accept his presence and return to their work.

Food and drink is brought to them, and Fenris never leaves the room over the next few days. The healer’s, accustomed to his presence, do insist on Fenris taking a bath after the second day. The water runs muddy red with dried blood that had encrusted on Fenris’s skin. He washes quickly, scrubbing hard at himself, before he’s back in his armor and watching over Sebastian.

A guard reports to him daily on Hawke’s status. No sign of the Crows, but she is restless. She keeps herself in the dungeons, her staff always in her hands. Fenris knows that he cannot keep her there for much longer. She’ll want to leave, take matters into her own hands. She’ll get herself killed. Sebastian’s eyes have not yet opened.

On the fifth day, they do. Slowly at first, blinking as if awakening from only a deep sleep. His hands move over his stomach, finds nothing save for bandages. He winces as he sits up, feeling the ache deep inside him. He may be unmarred, the magic thorough, but the pain still lingers. The healer’s leap to their feet immediately. “My King!” That is what gets Fenris’s attention, walking to the end of the bed.

He smiles as he looks at Sebastian. “Welcome back,” he says. Sebastian snorts, shakes his head.

“Tell me what happened.”

Hawke lies in a cot, her hands folded over her belly. She stares at the dank ceiling, the stone that drips with moisture. The dungeons smell like shit. She probably smells the same, now. The rotation has begun, guards replacing guards, and they are all faces she recognizes. Not Crows. Not assassins. Her feet swing over the bed, land on the floor. Hay underneath her feet, dirt and mud. She’s still in her armor. She picks up her staff as she stands.

She makes her way to the bars, leans her head against the metal. “Any news?”

“The King has awoken, my Lady.”

“What? When?”

“Two days ago, I believe.” Her mouth gapes open.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me? I’ve been asking every single day.” The guards face colors.

“We were instructed not to. Until today. You’re to wait until milord Fenris comes to see you.” Hawke pushes herself away from the bars. She paces in the dungeon, her staff dragging behind her. She wears a path in that hay, in the dirt, in the mud, frowning all the while.

Fenris is with Sebastian. They would keep each other safe. The spell is easy enough to weave, no matter how unpracticed she is. The guards slump the ground, sleep overtaking them. She walks over them as she leaves the dungeons.

“Why is almost everything you wear white?” Fenris asks as Sebastian laughs, pulling the tunic over his head. At least his pants are darker in color. Sebastian is still smiling as Fenris does up the buttons, brows furrowed in concentration. He looks up, startled, when Sebastian cups his face, presses a kiss to his forehead. Fenris scowls but the tip of his ears go red.

“You shouldn’t do that when someone could see,” Fenris says.

“I don’t see anyone else here,” Sebastian chuckles as he leans in again, catching Fenris’s lips. He’s resistant at first, but then Sebastian feels the smile and Fenris is kissing back in earnest. Hands that leave his buttons, travel his arms, settling on his back as Fenris dips in towards him. In a kiss, as in all things he does, he does it fiercely. Pulling at Sebastian’s bottom lip, his tongue insistent and searching, hands pressing tightly against him.

He pulls away quickly, back of his hand against his mouth at the knocking at the door. A hurried and panicked noise, Sebastian sighs as he readjusts his shirt. “Come in!” He shouts, and immediately a breathless soldier bursts inside the room.

“She’s gone, my Lord. The Lady Hawke. She’s been seen heading towards the stables,” he gasps out. “Tried to stop her but…” Sebastian is already pushing past him, a hand pressing where it still aches deep inside buried muscle. He races down stairs and corridors, Fenris close behind. They make it in time to see Hawke burst out of the stables on horseback, racing down the streets towards the gate.

“A horse!” Sebastian barks at the startled stable hand, who directs him towards one of the stalls.

“There’s only one prepared serrah,” the stable hand tells Fenris as Sebastian mounts the horse, reins tight in his hands.

“Stay here,” Sebastian tells Fenris, “I’ll be back soon.” He looks like he might argue for a moment, but realizing time is not on their side, swallows it with a frown. Fenris steps back with a nod, watches as Sebastian makes chase after Hawke.

She may have the head start, but Sebastian has the advantage of knowing Starkhaven. He’d never forgotten these streets, the alleys, all the secret ways in and around. He exits the city close behind Hawke, as she dashes through fields of flowers and grass. “Hawke!” She turns at his shout, urges her horse faster. She leads him on a winding chase, over hill and through trees, until Sebastian is finally able to catch her. They ride side by side, but while Sebastian is looking at her, she is looking away.

“Hawke, enough!”

“Go back,” she snaps, jerking the reins, forcing Sebastian to make quick adjustments to stay with her. If she will not stop… He reaches out, fist in her cloak, and drags her backward. They both go tumbling off their horses, white tunic stained green with grass, splashed with mud. Hawke is already trying to push up from the ground, but Sebastian is on her, pinning her beneath him.

Hands catch wrists, struggling to catch his breath as he straddles her. “Go back Sebastian,” she tells him again. The horses, riderless and directionless, come to wandering stop nearby. She’s still struggling beneath him, glowering as she tries to escape his hold.

“Where are you going?” he asks, pressing her wrists to the ground.

“It’s better if you don’t know,” she says.

“Why? Why are you doing this? Have we done something wrong? Whatever it is we can-”

“Me! I’ve done something wrong,” Hawke says, looking away from him. “I’m the Champion of Kirkwall.” She makes a mockery of laughter, more pain than glee. “If it’s not the Chantry that hunts me, it’s the Crows. They’ll keep sending assassins.”

“We’ll fight them together,” Sebastian says.

“Sebastian, you almost died.”

“We were taken unawares. We won’t be again,” he says. That same laugh again, and Sebastian’s grip loosens as Hawke goes slack, stops fighting.

“You’re the bloody King. You shouldn’t be out here unprotected.”

“I’m not,” he smiles, “I have you.” He shifts, moving to sit, palms in the dirt and the grass. Hawke slowly sits up beside him, pulling her knees to her chest. She wraps her arms around them, hugging her legs tightly. She’s bathed recently, something quick – her hair is still wet. She wears no armor, just something simple. The cloak is heavy and dark, meant to hide more than protect. She doesn’t have her staff. Sebastian reaches out, loosens one of her hands, and takes it in his.

“Tell me.” His request is simple, but she struggles with the answer. Her hand shakes in his.

“I’m known. I’ll always have enemies now. When they think of Kirkwall, they think of the Chantry. They think of mages and Templars fighting each other, of the war. They think of me. Someone is always going… four Crows,” she says. Her forehead presses against her knees, and she takes a deep breath before turning to look at him.

“I’ve already lost one family. You’re in danger because of me. If I leave, then the Crows will chase me. The Chantry will leave you be. I know they’ve been sending Seekers to you. If I leave, you’ll be safer.” She pauses, thinks for a moment, and then her face cracks. “I can’t lose you,” she half-whispers it, “you and Fenris. I can’t – because of me. Not again. I can’t, I can’t.” Her hand is shaking harder and the ocean overflows.

“I was so frightened. I thought we’d lost you. T-then they wouldn’t tell me if you were okay. I know why. I know why F-Fenris told them not to tell me. I wanted to go to you, so badly. B-but if I did, they’d see me in the castle. They’d know where I was. If the Crows wanted to strike. Then you’d b-be in danger again. W-wouldn’t be able to defend yourself. They wouldn’t tell me if you were okay,” she sobs. “I thought you were dead.”

“Oh Hawke. My Hawke,” Sebastian murmurs, leans closer to her, pulls her into his arms. He cries with her, it hurts too much to see her like this. They sit together on that hill, underneath a lone tree. Branches sway in the wind, the gentle rustle of leaves. The horses are more than happy to roam nearby, faces at the ground, rooting out anything good they can find. The Palace shines in the distance, past the farms and fields.

Clouds drift, casting their shape upon the earth, passing lazily. It is bright but not blinding, caught safely underneath the shadow of the tree. Birds sing their song in the distance, bugs chirping out their work. The occasional beat of hooves upon the earth. Hawke’s muted breathing as she struggles to pull it all back in. “You are our family,” Sebastian says, “to both Fenris and I… the three of us belong together. Apart, we are less than ourselves. Weaker. Broken.”

“It was agony, to have you so far apart while we conquered Starkhaven. Like having a limb cut off. Nothing seemed right. Not until you were back with us. The world seems brightest when we are together. Better.” He presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “Please don’t leave us. I don’t think we could bear it,” he says.

Her hands are wound in his tunic, and there’s a moment of silence before she answers. “I – I need to keep you safe,” she says.

“You can do that best by staying with us. We keep each other safe,” he says. “Please stay.” She says nothing. He feels the nod, slow against him. He sighs, relieved, and squeezes her tightly. “My Hawke, my Hawke.”

The ride back to the Palace, is slower, more relaxed. Fenris pushes himself away from the beam he was leaning against, looking at them as they approach. Hawke is silent, her eyes still red-rimmed, and she makes a quiet exit towards her room. Sebastian gives Fenris a smile, puts a hand on his shoulder. Hawke is the last one to Sebastian’s room that night, resting her staff against the nightstand before she crawls into bed.

They do not speak about the events of the day. Sebastian kisses the nape of her neck. Fenris puts a hand on her face, soothing circles with his thumb. Kisses that spell relief, whisper love. They keep Hawke between them, their hands upon her, their bodies as close as they can manage. There’s reassurance in the closeness, an affirmation of the promise to stay. Together.

Sebastian’s stance is wide, feet planted on the ground, Hawke’s legs wrapped tight around his waist. Fingers bite underneath her thighs, his hands holding her tight. The stone is cool against her back, but Sebastian is warm as she clings to him, her hands at his shoulders, and his mouth at her neck. His hips thrust, and he rams his cock inside her again and again. She gasps against his ear, and her fingers bruise into skin. He tilts his face upward, his forehead beaded with sweat, and she is all too happy to oblige the kiss.

They’ve found an abandoned corridor, one where no guards walk, and Hawke had lit the sole torch. It’s paltry light, but more than enough for them. Hawke’s mewling cries echo in the emptiness, all of Sebastian’s grunts and moans. Hawke’s breasts bounce with each thrust, a mixture of her wet and his pre-cum dripping to the floor below. “Marry me,” Sebastian breathes, murmuring the words into her mouth.

“T-this is not exactly the m-most romantic of proposals,” Hawke gasps, her face red, her legs tightening around him.

“I can’t – I can’t wait any longer. Marry me Hawke,” he says again, capturing her lips in kiss after kiss, pulling her lip beneath his teeth, plunging his tongue inside her mouth. Her hand knits into his hair, pulling his head back. They look at each other for a few moments, rhythm unceasing, skin slapping against skin.

“Yes,” she says at last, “yes. But you have to propose to Fenris too.”

“I already have.” Catching him before he leaves the room. A single kiss. Tying a blue ribbon around his wrist, side by side with the red.

Hawke’s arms wrap around his neck, her head knocking against his as Sebastian grinds his hips against her, burying himself deep. He calls her name as he comes, eyes squeezed closed, her cunt clenching around him in unbearable waves. He lowers her to the ground slowly, the both of them sitting against stone, wrapped up in each other. Hawke moves fast, pushing him to the ground, straddling him. Her hands wrap around his wrists, press them to the floor.

“Ask me properly,” she says with a smile. Sebastian chuckles softly, smiles back at her.

“I love you Hawke. Please, you would make me the happiest man if you would agree to be my wife. Marry me.” She leans down, kisses him gently, lips brushing against his.

“King Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven, it would honor me most greatly to be your wife.” He moves swiftly, escaping her grasp to wrap an arm around her waist and flip her. Hawke lets out a delighted laugh as his face presses against hers, covering her in kisses. He sits with his legs crossed, Hawke in his lap. She reaches up, taps a finger against his nose.

“Three. Three children. More than that and I’m killing you in your sleep,” she says. Sebastian laughs, and then nods.

“Three it is.”

“At least one has to be Fenris’s,” she says.

“I’m telling you, as I told Fenris, all children you bear will be the heirs of Starkhaven. I will love them no matter what. Pointed ears or not,” he tells her quietly. She smiles at that, runs a finger along the line of his jaw, pinches at his chin. She leans forward, her eyes on him always, kisses him deeply.

“Good,” she murmurs.

The first Crow comes for her three days later. Hawke sits on the edge of the bed as the maid enters the room, Sebastian still sleeping. She carries fresh towels, a knife wedged between them. Hawke catches the glint of metal out of the corner of her eye, bright underneath an unclouded sun. Her magic is swift, pinning the ‘maid’ against the wall. There’s magebane on the knife, an edge of green that hurts Hawke to be near. It’s Sebastian who rips it from the Crow’s grasp. Guards enter swiftly, brought by Hawke’s thunder, drag the Crow down to the cellars. She doesn’t stay there long. They send her head back to Antiva, along with the knife.

The second Crow comes for her in the evening. He catches her in the corridor heading towards the kitchens, she cries out when the throwing knife hits the back of her leg. Magebane first, this time. The Crow is on her in an instant, she blocks the first strike of his dagger with her arm. Embedded in bone and flesh, she twists to catch his wrist. She twists it, pulls the dagger from him with her other hand. She sinks it deep into his neck, falling backwards with the dead crow on top of her. They send his hand back to Antiva.

The third Crow sends others to do his bidding. Bodies slow, their eyes long clouded. A mage, a blood mage at that. He enthralls servants, an attacker at every turn. She stops eating for fear of an enthralled cook slipping poison in her food. She stops training for there are too many eyes in the barracks. She cowers in her room, Sebastian by her side. It takes Fenris two days to find the source, a cowering mouse of a thing hiding in the sewers. He freely cuts his wrists, uses blood to power him. No match for Fenris, who swiftly slices through him. They send his staff back to Antiva.

“Wouldn’t you be so kind as to die for me?” The fourth Crow asks, a smile on her face. There’s a cleaver in her hands, blood stained upon her boots. “You’ve been causing quite a lot of trouble.”

“Afraid I can’t,” Hawke says as she rises from her bath without any shame. She brushes wet locks away from her face, water dripping off of her as she leaves the tub to stand on tile. She draws fire to her fist, cocks her head at the assassin. The Crow laughs.

“Shame. Although, that is what I thought you might say. I’ve no interest in dying either, Champion.” The Crow snaps her feet together, gives Hawke a low bow. “Molte vittorie a voi.” She bends down on one knee, leaves the cleaver on the floor. Then she leaves, as quickly as she had come, unseen by the guards. They send the cleaver back to Antiva, and grant the Crow her freedom in the guise of death.

The Crows send a letter. A truce of sorts. They will tell the Champion if another Crow has been paid to kill her. Thus far, there has only been silence. Sebastian marries Hawke on a sunny day, a crown of roses in her hair. It feels like home again. Merrill is tanned and smells more of sea salt, Isabela’s arm slung over her shoulders. Varric has dragged along a Seeker of all things, who frowns at all but swoons at the ceremony. Aveline and Donnic, hand in hand, wearing matching smiles.

It’s the old days all over again, of loud laughing, long hours of drinking. Isabela still cheats at cards, Fenris still wins anyway. Merrill makes flowers bloom in the moonlight, Varric spins the tale of the Inquisitor. Aveline speaks of Kirkwall, how much the city has changed. Calmed. They talk together until the sun rises, and still they go on. It hurts when they leave, an ache as they go. Hawke, Sebastian and Fenris stand together. Stay together.

Fenris closes his eyes as Hawke hums, running her fingers through his hair. He sits cross legged on the ground, while she sits on a chair behind him. She pulls back lock after lock, winding them in her fingers, forming a neat braid in his hair. She ties it off with a small ribbon, pulls it over his shoulder. Then she leans forward, biting playfully at the tip of his ear as she wraps her arms around his neck. He leans back, a knee on either side of him, smiling as his hand touches her arm. She lets her head rest on his, still humming as she holds him tight.

Together they watch as Sebastian chases after her, hunched over and arms out, with a wide smile of happiness. She lets out childish peals of laughter, trampling flowers as she goes. Muddy red hair, like her father. Fenris shifts, and Hawke leans back in the chair. He turns, kneeling before her, a hand passing over her swollen belly. A thumb brushes against his cheek as he smiles up at her, presses a kiss to where his child sleeps within her.

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